


body work

by mortarsmayfall



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AU: Paranormal Investigation, Car Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Human Connor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Clothed Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Character, Trans Porn by Trans People, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortarsmayfall/pseuds/mortarsmayfall
Summary: “We gotta make this quick,” Hank mutters, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth. “Didn’t go fifty-three years of my life with a spotless record just to get busted for public indecency at a fuckin’ truck stop inOklahoma.”





	body work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biocomp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biocomp/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547692) by [biocomp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biocomp/pseuds/biocomp). 



“Fuck,” Hank grunts. “Fuck.”

“Fuck” is right. Connor reassesses the situation. His knees are around Hank’s ears. “Make Me Feel” by Janelle Monae crackles over Connor’s Prius’ FM radio. In the front seat, the air conditioning makes a valiant effort to repel the sudden amount of heat being generated in the backseat.

“We gotta make this quick,” Hank mutters, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth. “Didn’t go fifty-three years of my life with a spotless record just to get busted for public indecency at a fuckin’ truck stop in _Oklahoma.”_

 

\--

 

Outside, Niles lights another cigarette. It’s starting to get dark outside, the scrubby land surrounding the highway turning a golden-orange as the sun begins its slow march under the horizon. He glances towards the rest stop and sees a dog (a Lab, his brother would astutely point out) tied to the railing out front, dutifully awaiting her owner.

The car he’s leaning on gives a shudder. Niles loses his balance, just slightly, enough to make righting himself imperceptible. The black dog cocks her head at him, puzzled by the movement.

“Yeah, me neither,” Niles says, taking a long inhale. He holds the smoke in his lungs till it burns, exhales.

Connor was going to owe him one to the tune of a $100 Sephora gift card for this.

 

\--

 

“No lube,” Hank says, in disbelief. “We got no lube. At all.”

Well, this was a wrench in things.

“I don’t need it.”

Hank groans, squeezes at the base of his cock. He’s already rolled the condom on but the head’s an angry color. Connor resists the urge to lick his lips at the sight. “Kid, you can’t just—“

“What’s your solution? Walk in the rest stop with an obvious erection and buy some KY?”

Hank doesn’t say anything. Connor feels a little bit like slapping him, and he would anywhere else, but there’s no room for Hank to pin his wrists, call him a brat with no bite to the insult. Instead, he wraps his fingers around Hank’s wrist. The muscles in Hank’s forearm jump.

Hank gets about as far as “what,” before Connor envelops his index and middle finger in the wet heat of his mouth. His pupils, already blown wide, threaten to swallow up the thin ring of blue around them completely. Unconsciously, Hank’s hips jolt, and his cock drags against the juncture of Connor’s pelvis and thigh. Connor moans around his fingers, sucks hard, laves his tongue over them till they’re slick with spit.

“Okay, stop,” Hank gasps, pulling his fingers from Connor’s mouth with a filthy _pop._ “Any more and I’m gonna blow my load at the fuckin’ sight of you.”

Connor looks at him, eyes half-lidded, and kisses Hank’s wrist, earning an embarrassed grunt. He can only guess how debauched he looks, spread out on the backseat with a swollen red mouth. “Is that a promise?”

Hank snorts, puffing a strand of hair that fell loose from his ponytail out of his face. “You’re a trip.”  He circles his other hand around, grips Connor by the hip and hauls him closer, a move that makes his breath hitch. He wonders how Hank can tell he enjoys the manhandling.  “C’mere.”

Connor lets Hank jostle him around, and in one coarse motion he tugs Connor’s underwear to the side, muttering about undressing in a car being a fuckin’ nightmare. Connor snorts out a laugh, bites his lip when he feels the rough brush of Hank’s thumb against his clit. Hank catches on and does it again, harder, pinches it between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger. The pulsing sensation it produces shoots up Connor’s spine, and his eyes roll back, a full-body shudder racking his body. “Oh, god—“

“You like that?” Hank asks, voice low. Connor says nothing, pants at the ceiling of the car. “Hey, I need a little input here.”

“Y-yeah,” Connor manages. He pulls the corners of his mouth up in a poor approximation of a smile. He can tell he’s already soaking wet. Slicking Hank’s fingers had merely been a formality.

“You want me in you?”

He doesn’t think he can manage words, not with Hank still grinding against his clit in that slow, burning motion, so he nods. Hank makes a noise of assent and shifts, the heel of his hand taking his thumb’s place, his other hand holding him open and – _oh._ With very little fanfare, Hank sinks a spit-slick finger deep in him, and Connor groans – _loudly._

“You look so fucking good like this,” Hank breathes, thrusting  his finger, opening him up. “If I had more time, more space—“

“You’d _what?”_ Connor goads. God, Hank is too good for him, fucking him like this. The backseat is going to smell of sex for _weeks_ after and Niles is going to snidely complain about it the whole way.

It’d be worth it, though.

“First thing I do when we get to the next hotel,” Hank rumbles, adding another finger. He’s thrusting into Connor with enough force that his whole arm is pistoning back and forth, the car rocking minutely. “Is lock your goddamn brother out and eat you out till you _cry.”_

“Is—“ Connor cuts himself off with a _whine_ when Hank scissors his fingers hard, trying not to writhe so violently he accidentally chokes him. “Is that all?”

“Oh, no, babe,” and Connor tries to not shiver with delight at the rare term of endearment. “No, I’m gonna – gonna find a seedy little sex shop and hook you up with a vibe. Leave you tied up in bed with it for half a day, see if you still got that mouth on you by the time I’m back.”

Oh, fuck. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Investigator,” Connor manages.

Hank chuckles, twists his fingers in the next few thrusts, curling up and in. “Brat,” he says, fondly. Each in-and-out movement is accompanied by slick, filthy noises. Connor goes red at how wet he must be, a patchy blush creeping low underneath the tacky, tropical patterned button up he never bothered to shuck off. The backseat is impossibly hot; the still-blasting A/C does little to alleviate the feverish heat generated by the slide of skin on skin. He can feel the pressure beginning to unfurl low and fast in his belly, his orgasm punching closer with each ungentle thrust of Hank’s thick fingers. But he wants, he wants—

“Gonna—gonna come,” Connor huffs, his heel pressing into Hank’s shoulder. “Hah. _Hank.”_

“Yeah, kid?” Hank stops, so suddenly Connor keens in frustration. “You’re gonna have to ask for it.”

“I want—your cock,” Connor gasps, and is rewarded with Hank pressing his lips hard to the corner of his mouth. The scruff of his beard scratches the delicate skin around Connor’s mouth pleasantly. “In me. Please.”

Hank retracts his fingers, and suddenly Connor is aware of the loss of heat and pressure. He can feel the wetness dripping out of him, threatening to drop onto the seat. Hank sits back just slightly, shows him his hand. “Look at this, Con.”

His hand is shiny-wet all the way up past his knuckles. Hank separates his index and middle finger. A thin string of slick clings between them, shining in the early evening sunlight. It’s kind of beautiful, Connor thinks hysterically. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

Hank raises his fingers to his lips, presses them to his tongue, licks them clean.

He looks Connor dead in the eyes as he does it, and Connor almost comes on the spot right there.

 

\--

 

Niles looks at his cigarette. It’s nearly burned to ash. He flicks it to the ground, grinds it under the pointed toe of his boot till weak little tendrils of smoke curl out from under the sole.

 He glances at his watch, a matte-black analog thing with gold numbers. The hands of the watch are etched to look like skeleton hands. Five minutes have passed. Niles looks up, meets the gaze of the black dog, now lying down with its head resting on its paws, blinking blearily. He feels a strange, kindred connection with the dog. Neither of them can leave for now. Restless, he looks at his watch again. Thirty seconds.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Niles pulls out an equally-elaborate black and gold compact mirror and reapplies his lipstick, taking his time.  A hand inside of the car smacks the window to his right, palm first, and Niles rolls his eyes.

 _“Ha—nk,”_ says a muffled groan from the other side of the glass. It’s times like these Niles wishes he didn’t have ears.

At least, that’s until he hears the sound of tires and, glancing over his shoulder in the compact mirror, notices an off-duty cop car pull into the rest stop.

 

\--

 

Hank drags his cock across Connor’s opening, catching it over his clit, and Connor’s heart stutters in his chest. He feels frightfully weightless, like he might vault off the seat, fly through the roof of the car, tumble into outer space. Connor smacks his hand against the glass of the window, desperate for an anchor, for something cool to alleviate the too-sweet slide of Hank’s rough hands against hot, oversensitive skin.

Hank grins meanly, thrusts forward again. The shock has Connor teetering on the edge, toes curling. _“Ha—nk.”_

 “Con—“

They’re interrupted by three swift taps on the glass of the window, Niles’ signal for “someone’s coming.” The both of them look up.

Behind his back, Niles holds up two fingers: code for “cop.”

“Oh, _shit,”_ Hank breathes. He goes to tuck his (still painfully hard) cock away. “Connor, we gotta—“

Connor catches his wrist.

“Make me come, Hank.”

Hank stares at him. He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Is that a no?” Connor challenges. He bites Hank’s wrist, gently. “Don’t think you can do it?”

That does it. Hank crowds closer, pushes Connor’s thighs flush back towards his own chest. “You’re so fucking needy,” he grumbles, but there it is, the blunt pressure against his opening, making Connor bite back a whine. “Such a pain in my ass.”

Every time with Hank feels like the first time to Connor. It’s hard not to when your boyfriend has a dick whose girth rivals that of a beer can. He always tells Hank as much, and Hank, every time without fail, snorts. He does so now, driving in gentle but certainly not slow. The sudden rush of their little party makes it feel as though Hank is splitting him open, even dripping wet.  Hank bottoms out fast, pulling back and fucking back in with one rough stroke, till Connor is shaking. His fingers curl into fists near his head, searching for something to do, restless with the sweet drag of Hank’s cock against his insides.

“If we get arrested I’m making your creepy twin post bail,” Hank grunts, readjusting his angle and snapping his hips. Connor actually _sobs,_ his body clenching down involuntarily, stimulated by the angle of the thrust.

It’s too good. It threatens to overwhelm him.

“You’re awfully confident – _nngh –_ Niles wouldn’t be arrested as an accomplice,” Connor jokes, weakly. And that’s the last joke he makes, because Hank picks up the pace, _fast,_ wrapping one arm around Connor’s thighs and pressing them together, fingers clamped hard enough into the soft flesh Connor wouldn’t be surprised if he had bruises the next day. His legs in this position create a tighter fit for both of them, so each thrust lances deep, has stars skittering across Connor’s vision.

With a distant sense of horror, Connor realizes that Hank’s fucking him hard enough at this point that the car is full-on shaking, the frame of it shrieking on its wheels.

With a more dull, immediate sense of horror, Connor realizes he doesn’t really care. Not when Hank is verifiably piledriving him into the worn leather of the seats, not when each short, brutal thrust has Connor panting soft little “ah, ah, ah’s” into his own bicep, tears pinpricking the corners of his eyes with how _good_  it is. This’ll be hell on both of their backs but getting railed like this was worth it.

Hank’s free hand strokes his jaw, tugs his hair, catches the tears that begin to slide down his cheeks when he becomes too overwhelmed to keep them in. His thrusts switch to slow and punishing, and Connor can tell Hank’s close. He’s close too. Vaguely he’s aware of the cop, but Connor’s somewhere else right now, call again later, and the threat of being caught was about as vague a concept as the earth being swallowed by a dying sun one day.

“’M close,” Hank grunts, bearing down further, thrusting bruisingly, achingly hard – the kind that hurts but Connor loves.

He loves Hank so much. He wants to tell him.

“You can come inside me now,” he whispers instead, and hopes Hank understands what he means. “I want – I want you to.”

And Hank does. Connor feels it, too, in the way Hank shudders, his hips snapping forward as he comes, driving himself deeper, deeper, deeper, as if trying to push his come inside him despite the presence of the condom. Connor is hit with the mental image of them fucking without it, Hank’s release too much for him to contain, and it’s leaking out of him, down his thighs, his hole an aching, tragic mess, but – satisfied, so fucking _satisfied –_

Something touches his clit – Hank’s thumb, working it roughly, as a single finger breaches him alongside Hank’s softening cock – and Connor _screams,_ actually screams, body locking up around Hank like a vice, and comes harder than he ever remembers coming in his life.

“Oh, god,” Connor breathes, trembling through each aftershock as if his whole body had turned to jelly, “Oh, my god.”

He can’t get up. He actually cannot get up right now.

“Connor.”

He’s afraid if he gets up, his bones will turn to soup.

 _“Connor_.”

“Just let them lock me up,” Connor groans, melodramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He hears a long sigh, then some shuffling as Hank pulls out of him, ties off the condom, and discards it…somewhere. He can’t really worry about that right now, not when Hank is gently but swiftly smoothing his underwear back into place, tugging his pants back up from where they were around his ankles. He kisses the side of Connor’s knee. “C’mon, sweetheart, up you g—“

 _Tak tak tak._ Three hard raps on the window. Connor doesn’t even dare look up.

Alarmingly, traitorously, Hank rolls down the window. He smiles.

“’Evening, officer.”

 

\--

 

“You are _damn_ lucky I was able to distract him long enough,” Niles mutters darkly. His eyes are on the road. This is Connor’s punishment for a car quickie – neither he nor Hank are allowed to drive his own car. Also, both of them are relegated to the backseat, to stew in the stench of sweat and sex that they were technically responsible for. Connor would laugh, because it is kind of funny, but Niles would probably then drive the car off the nearest vista just to spite him. “You know in some states you have to register for sex offender status if they catch you having public sex? Don’t even need to be a pedophile or anything. No, just really fucking _stupid.”_

“But he _didn’t_ catch us,” Connor points out instead, maybe a little pedantically. “They didn’t have nearly enough proof. It’s not like anyone had complained to them. They just pulled up at nearly the right time.” Niles smacks his head against the steering wheel, earning a loud _honk_ at nothing but the cacti and desert scrub lining the road. There are no other cars around for miles.

“Every day I pray for patience,” Niles grumbles, “and not once has any god granted any of my prayers.”

“Never took you as the praying type,” Hank says. Niles can see Hank grinning in the rear view mirror, and for a single dark moment considers slamming on the brakes just to make the both of them pitch forward and smack their heads on the seats. “Unless you’re praying to something with bat wings and a horse cock.”

 _“Hank.”_ Connor sounds scandalized, but he’s still giggling. Fucker.

“It’s true, and I should say it,” Hank declares, stubbornly.

A comfortable silence settles over the group. Outside, the sun dips low and bright red under the horizon, turning the desert purple and orange. A sign informs Niles that the next major town is a twenty-mile drive. He gets comfortable, turns on the aux input.

_Take a little walk to the edge of town  
And go across the tracks…_

He hears a snuffling sound, then a soft snore. Connor huffs a laugh. Looking behind him, Niles can see that Hank has unbuckled his seat belt and is lying fast asleep with his head in Connor’s lap. His hair is loose from the rubber-band ponytail Niles usually sees it in, and his brother cards his hands through it. It’s – peaceful. Niles wouldn’t admit in a million years, even under pain of torture, that it was  _cute,_ though.

“Niles?”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for coming with us.”

Niles doesn’t meet his brother’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Mm,” he acknowledges, once again.

“I mean it. Hank can be – well, Hank, but I can tell he likes you, too.”

Niles doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Connor likes to talk, but they have an unspoken understanding. No matter how much he may gripe about Hank, or his brother’s overly-optimistic attitude…it’s nice to travel with him. With Hank, too – he appreciates the grounding he gives Connor. The two of them get on more than either would admit. Maybe that’s why they tend to jibe each other so often.

 Niles wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

“I’m going to sleep, too,” Connor murmurs, and by the sound of his voice he sounds more than halfway there already. “Wake me up when you need me to switch.”

Niles hums his assent, but he never does. He drives the rest of the way to town himself, where the twinkling lights and a beat-up neon motel sign would welcome them home, into bed, for whatever strange things the Deviant Souls team would encounter the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> part of bio's deviant souls paranormal investigation au because he mentioned car sex in a rest stop during a road trip and the idea of niles smoking a cigarette and checking his watch as hank and connor absolutely go to town in the car was too good a concept to pass up.
> 
> terrible car pun title courtesy of [cointricked.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cointricked) i hate you so much, man.
> 
> remember to practice safe sex y'all!


End file.
